


The Many Faces of Jensen Ackles (as compiled by one, Dmitri Krushnic)

by Zoelily



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Cockles, JDMV - Freeform, M/M, Misha's POV, OTP Feels, On Set, Polyamory, Rimming, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Toys, Ten Years of Cockles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 16:37:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17124911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoelily/pseuds/Zoelily
Summary: Jensen Ackles is an enigma.  Sometimes, when Misha is ruminating in those rare, but still present, moments of insecurity, he’ll wonder which version of his friend is the most genuine.  But, the lion’s share of the time, Misha can’t get enough of Jensen’s multi-faceted personality, and he’s fully aware that he’s one of the lucky ones.





	The Many Faces of Jensen Ackles (as compiled by one, Dmitri Krushnic)

**Author's Note:**

> I originally started writing this a year or so ago then I set it aside. I picked it up again for the Cockles Cooperative's, JenMish Memories and Milestones Anniversary Challenge, and the boys ran away with it. Before I knew it, it was almost 20k. I love how it came together, so I hope you do too. 
> 
> Thanks to my dear friend Bek for the alpha read and to the amazing [Tennyo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tennyo/pseuds/Tennyo) for her speedy and accurate beta skills. Any and all remaining errors are my own.
> 
> Athough this isn't a holiday story, 'tis the season. So, this fic is for all of you, my found family, my pocket friends. You all mean so much to me. Best of the season in whichever way you celebrate and may your home be filled with love, peace, and a little bit of kink.

Jensen Ackles is an enigma.  Sometimes, when Misha is ruminating in those rare, but still present, moments of insecurity, he’ll wonder which version of his friend is the most genuine.  But, the lion’s share of the time, Misha can’t get enough of Jensen’s multi-faceted personality, and he’s fully aware that he’s one of the lucky ones.  
  
Every voice, personality, entity has a purpose: to keep Jensen from shattering into a million pieces, damaged from having to fight to keep his sense of self in a world that was bent on destroying it.  Hollywood isn’t kind to boys like Jensen Ackles. The majority of the time, when all of Jensen’s coping mechanisms work in perfect tandem and Jensen realizes how much he’s genuinely loved, he comes close to perfection.  Misha is forever in awe. He has an exclusive pass to all of the beautiful pieces that make up the whole puzzle; he has all access to the many faces of Jensen Ackles, and there isn’t a damn thing he’d change about it.  
  
  
 **I.  Dean Winchester**

Dean Winchester is as frustrating as he is beautiful, stubborn as he is intelligent, and as deadly as he is emotional, even if he rarely shows it.  Misha loves to watch Jensen transform into his alter-ego when the slate drops as if nothing else exists for him but the scene he’s rehearsed and ready for. Jensen can pull off a scene in a way Misha has rarely seen an actor do, even some of the Oscar-worthy best, and then turn around and joke with one of the crew seconds later like they’d just been shooting the shit and sharing a beer.  It’s as if Jensen carries Dean conveniently in his back pocket and just pulls him out as needed, stuffing him back in like it’s nothing when he’s finished, whether that be minutes or months.  
  
Once in a while, Jensen misses his pocket and gives Dean free reign. There are times he does it on purpose, and Misha has been on the receiving end of that more than once. When Dean comes out to play, it can make for an interesting power play.  Unintentional character bleed is something all actors with ongoing roles fight with and Jensen is no exception. The longer they’re at this, the easier it gets to deal with. Over the years they’ve all learned to handle the more intense days when the character clings a bit tighter at the end of a tough scene. No one’s perfect though.

It’s just a regular Vancouver day, if not seasonally warm for a Wednesday in November, and no one out in the busy neighborhoods and industrial parks of Burnaby has any idea of the emotional chaos taking place on a set of stages in a gated film park nearby.  They’ve been at it for hours already and it’s only late afternoon. Misha can tell Jensen is getting tired. The scene is both mentally and physically exhausting and Misha has a feeling it’s gonna take a lot of coffee breaks to get through the night. He’s itching to take Jensen’s hand and give it a gentle squeeze or press a reassuring kiss to his cheek, but between first his coverage and then Jensen’s...    
  
When Tom yells cut, Jensen looks wrung out, and Misha isn’t surprised when he glances around the set to see several crew members wiping their eyes on their sleeves; he’d done the same.  Now, he needs to find a way to let Jensen know he’s close by if needed but since they have too much of an audience he settles for catching his eye and giving him a smile, which Jensen returns halfheartedly with a shrug. That is Misha’s first inclination that he should worry.  He pulls out his phone and shoots Danneel a quick text giving her the heads up that Jensen will need a little extra ‘tlc’ tonight and they agree to work on an aftercare plan for later and stay in touch.

Misha is so thankful for Danneel and Vicki.  They really are the glue that keeps their little poly unit functioning.  Without them, he and Jensen would probably still be circling around each other, trying to decide what to do with their wayward feelings like a couple of repressed high schoolers.  Danneel and Vicki are the communicators, and the dictators. Misha knows that his wife and Danneel were the ones who conspired to get him and Jensen to finally get their heads out of their proverbial asses and he is beyond thankful for that every day, but they’re also amazing women in their own right.  He loves and respects both of them with all of his being and he can’t imagine his life without the brightness either of them bring.  
  
The evening wears on at what feels like a snail’s pace considering the work they’re putting in. Misha and Jensen don’t get a chance to go back to their trailers at dinner time like Misha had hoped, but they do get a few minutes to themselves over coffee in craft services after they eat. The sun has long since set and the air has chilled, threatening frost in the damp night.  Misha can feel the heaviness in the air. Right now it’s settling as fog around them but it will turn to rain before morning. It’s not cold enough for snow yet but it’s getting close. Misha can already see the shining tips of the mountains on a clear day and the white gets lower with every good rain. He pulls his jacket a little closer and notices that Jensen has done the same.  The metal folding chair is cold on his ass and that isn’t helping either. Misha sets his tea down, shuffles forward and reaches for Jensen’s hands, pulling them into his lap and wrapping them in his own. With everyone taking some chill time after dinner, mostly indoors due to the cold, they’re safe from prying eyes for the moment.  
  
‘You’re quiet. Rough night?”  
  
Jensen nods, not meeting Misha’s eyes.  He can feel Jensen’s hands tense and tighten in his grip but he doesn’t make any effort to pull away.  
  
“What up?  You seem anxious.” Misha takes a moment to run his fingers through the stubborn few strands of hair that always seem to flop over onto Jensen’s forehead no matter how much product the hair and makeup artists use. It gives Jensen time to gather his thoughts and Misha an excuse to keep touching.  
  
Jensen takes a deep breath and tips his forehead to Misha’s.  
  
“Shit, I ruined it,” Jensen fake-laughs and reaches up to check his hair.    
  
Misha grasps his wrist and slowly lowers it back to their joined hands.  “You look perfect.”  
  
Color begins to creep up Jensen’s neck so Misha kisses it away, or maybe adds to it, who knows - a few quick pecks to the cheek and one to the end of his nose.    
  
“Baby, you’ve been called every possible epithet for beautiful, no doubt daily, for forty years, and yet you still blush every time. How is that?”  
  
Jensen shrugs, squirming just a little under the attention. He’s getting better at accepting care and kindness. He’s amazing at giving it, the best really, but Dee, Vick, and Misha have had to work at getting him to allow them to bestow it upon him; to make him believe he is also allowed to take his own share of the love, contentedness, and wholeness their family gives each other. Misha tips Jensen’s face up with a long finger under his chin.  
  
“Come on, J.  What’s going on?”  
  
Jensen flops back into the metal chair with a huff, resignation clear on his face.  He doesn’t look angry and Misha’s thankful for that. Sometimes pushing works with Jensen and sometimes it’s better to let him simmer for a bit. Misha waits and Jensen takes a deep breath.  
  
“That last scene was fucking hard, Mish!”  
  
Misha has to admit, he’s a little confused.  Jensen blew that scene out of the water - like Emmy-worthy amazing.  Misha is always impressed by Jensen’s acting chops, especially with particularly emotional or overly humorous scenes, but this afternoon it really felt like Dean Winchester was right there, pouring his heart out to everyone in that room, and Misha believed every word he said.  
  
“I don’t understand,” he says to Jensen, hoping he sounds as open and understanding as he genuinely is. “You were phenomenal! I don’t know where you pulled that from, but you killed it.  Half the crew were crying.”  
  
Jensen shuffles his chair until he’s beside Misha and curls into him.  Ignoring the sharp scraping of the metal chair legs on the cold cement lot, Misha wastes no time wrapping one arm around Jensen’s shoulder and tugging him close.  If anyone comes by, they can fuck off. If this is what Jensen needs from him right now, then this is what he’ll get.  
  
The silence isn’t uncomfortable - they’re well past that; if anything, it’s soothing. Misha can feel Jensen’s back rise and fall under his warm coat, he can hear slight wheeze of his breathing from overuse of Dean’s deep voice, and he can smell Jensen’s unique work scent - a blend of cologne, leather, sweat, and a sort of powder and wax smell from the make up. It’s hard to describe, he supposes, but the combination is something he’s accustomed to.  
  
Eventually, Jensen extracts himself from Misha’s grasp and takes a hold of Misha’s hand, presumably to keep a small amount of comfort.  
  
“I wasn’t prepared for the dark places in my head that doing that scene would take me,” he says without preamble. “When I read the script I knew I would end up immersing myself in something.  You know I’m not really much of a method actor, but it’s one of those scenes you have to feel for it to be real, ya’ know?”  
  
Misha nods. He knows exactly what Jensen means.  Sometimes, you have to get into your character’s shoes or you might as well be phoning it in. Your audience will know the difference in a heartbeat.  
  
“Do you want to tell me about it?  Will that even help?” Misha asks, hoping something will clear Jensen from his funk.  
  
“Fuck if I know,”  Jensen mumbles rubbing Misha’s hand in his. “Maybe I just need to shrug it off.  It’s over now anyway, just gotta motor through the rest of the night and put today in the rear view.”  
  
“Sounds like decent plan, J,” Misha agrees just as Jensen drops his hand and jumps up, grabbing their mugs and spoons and heading over to the dirty dish trays. The reason for Jensen’s sudden departure makes sense when Misha sees the PA poke her nose around the corner and smile when she sees him.  
  
“Misha, makeup wants to do a touch up on you before your next coverage.”  
  
Jensen laughs.  “The old man needs a touch up.”  
  
The PA, Alicia, Misha remembers, makes his night when she answers quickly.  “Don’t worry, you’re next, Jensen.”  
  
He busts up laughing as he walks off to the makeup trailer listening to Jensen arguing with Alicia.  “Are you sure they asked for me?  
  


~~~

  
  
Stumbling into Jensen’s apartment at 3:00 am, tired and short-tempered from a fourteen hour day, Misha can feel the dirt under his fingernails and the dust clumping in his eyelashes.  Jensen brushes wordlessly past him heading for the shower and Misha sighs. He tugs his hoodie over his head, and tosses it on the leather couch, too tired to give a shit if Jensen will ride him for it later, and not in the fun way that’s difficult to even pull up an image for right now because he’s fighting being irritated and he’s tired as fuck.  He tries to run his hand through his hair, but there’s so much grime and product that it just feels crusty and gross. The couch looks inviting, but Misha knows if he sinks into its cushiony depths, he’ll be there until morning, so he settles for wandering into the kitchen to put the kettle on. By the time he gets the water boiling, and a cup of chamomile made, Jensen will be finished in the shower and he can get rid of the layer of dirt coating him like a second skin.

Misha’s predictions are accurate, and he’s just taking the first tentative sip of tea when Jensen appears, hair still slightly dripping and grey sweats tied low on his hips.  Misha can’t help but give an appreciative glance at Jensen’s damp chest before moving his gaze up to sleepy green eyes. He may be exhausted, but he’s not dead. Apparently his earlier inability to consider sex because he’s tired and cranky may have been premature.

“Did you save me any hot water?” he asks tentatively.

“Do I look like an asshole to you?” is the snipped reply, accompanied by an eye roll that would have any of their recent directors giving an enthusiastic thumbs-up.

Misha shakes his head and smirks.  “Thanks for the insightful, and colourful, answer to my simple question, Dean.  Now can you kindly fuck off and let Jensen come out to play?”

Jensen blinks a couple of times as though he really is trying to clear Dean Winchester’s physical presence. “Fuck. Sorry, Mish. Thanks for calling me out.”

Mindful of the fact that he’s still filthy and Jensen obviously isn’t, Misha somehow maneuvers himself into Jensen’s space without touching, even though he longs to.  He leans in far enough to press a gentle kiss to Jensen’s shower-warm lips; just a whisper of a kiss, which he quickly repeats against Jensen’s forehead, darting out his tongue to catch a droplet of water before it trickles down into Jensen’s eye.

“You had heavy scenes tonight, Jen, I don’t blame you for being emotionally drained, but I’m glad you’re back and Dean is safely tucked away for the night.” Misha steps back and grabs his discarded hoodie from the couch, turning around just in time to catch Jensen’s chastised  smirk before continuing. “The kettle’s hot – why don’t you make yourself some hot chocolate and climb into bed. I’ll be in with my tea in less time than it takes to read through Danneel’s first Instagram summary.”  
  
Jensen’s smile is a thing of beauty. The man barely ages and what little he does, he manages with a rugged grace no one else can quite master. What’s even better is that he, with a little help from Jensen’s multi talented wife, is the one currently causing the stunning grin lighting up Jensen’s tired eyes.  
  
On the night’s they shoot late, Danneel will send Jensen the ‘Cliff Notes’ version of the social media dumpster fire from her perspective. They all know the _#SPNFamily_ comes with all kinds, from absolutely amazing to completely bat-shit, but Dee manages to find the humor in it, write it all up with a little Calibri bow, and send it for Jensen at the end of a long day - a laugh to help him wind down - often something he and Jensen share. 

Misha smiles softly at Jensen’s retreating form.  Now that he knows it’s Jensen he’s about to crawl into a warm bed with, and not his cranky alter-ego, he’s in a pretty big hurry to get that shower over with.

 

**II.  Jackles**

The Supernatural cast is legendary for their pranks. It’s the running joke of the con circuit that you drink for every prank question but, of course, the cast humors every fan that asks. The stories are always new to somebody and some of them are pretty epic. The pranks range from elaborate, well thought-out, planned extravaganzas that often involve several members of the cast and crew’s participation, to an off the cuff wink or side-eye, or a quick squeeze in the right place at a tormentingly bad time. Guest stars and day players are excited but wary on their first day of filming. They’ve been warned that the set is one of the most fun to work on, and that the core cast is the most welcoming in the business, but you need to watch your back so you don’t become somehow roped into whatever master plot is in the works. 

Misha is sometimes the instigator of the mayhem. He comes by his reputation honestly and he can mastermind some glorious shit when he sets the wheels in motion, he’s the mastermind behind GISH after all; but, no one can out prank Jared Padalecki and Jensen Ackles. ‘Jackles’ as Misha so fondly calls Jensen when he’s in full-on mischief mode, especially loves to single out Misha. It’s like a personal prank vendetta that’s been going on since the middle of Season Four. Surprisingly, their relationship status hasn’t dampened it at all – if anything, it’s fueled the flames and the pranks have just become more personal and occasionally even more intimate.

Misha’s morning has been less than spectacular as he arrives on set on Monday.  The kids didn’t want him to leave – especially poor Maison who had attached herself to his leg like a determined, blonde barnacle until Vicki had to pry her off screaming.  And then, the line-up at the coffee shop that makes the best green tea lattes was so long he eventually gave up settling for pulling into the closest Starbucks. Even the NEXUS lane at the border crossing was busy slowing him down even more, which is exactly what the NEXUS lane is there to prevent. He feels a little better when he finally pulls through the gates on set because it’s familiar and comforting and he knows he can kick back in his trailer for a bit and decompress. 

Finding Jensen in his trailer is an unexpected, but not at all unpleasant, surprise.  Well, at least until he opens his trap. 

“You look like shit!”  Are the first words out of Jensen’s mouth, and even though they’re said with a look of genuine concern and as Jensen is leaning over to flip the switch on the electric kettle, they still sting a little. 

“Thanks,” Misha mumbles, unzipping his current favorite hoodie and tossing it on the nearby couch.  He’s given up falsely whining about how much smaller his trailer is than his co-stars. “I’ve had the morning from hell.  Damn, I really hate leaving those kids some days.” 

Jensen moves straight into Misha’s personal space and wastes no time peppering his face in soft, ticklish kisses. “You need some TLC and a few laughs to brighten your day.” 

Misha sighs and feels the weight give a little, enough that he feels his mouth tug a little at the corners. He definitely recognizes Jensen’s attempt at distraction for what it is.  
  
“It’s always hard to leave but some days are definitely worse. That’s when just have to put a little extra into looking out for each other.” Jensen murmurs into Misha’s ear, his fingers having instinctually buried themselves into the thick hair at the nape of his neck.  

Misha nods because he knows Jensen’s right. His kids are at home doing something weird and magical with their amazing mom and he’s gearing up for a full day of work with people whose company he genuinely enjoys. “You always know exactly what to say. How is that?”  Misha asks, slinking his arms around Jensen’s trim waist and burying himself in the attention Jensen’s lavishing on him. 

“Years of practice with the other one,” Jensen replies with a hearty laugh.  
  
“I hope this phenomenal head massage you’re giving me right now isn’t something you also practiced on Jared?”  
  
The firm yank on his hair is neither unexpected nor unwelcome. Jensen knows Misha’s just yanking his chain with the Jared comment. Jensen also knows Misha loves to have his hair pulled so the punishment doesn’t really fit the crime. On the other hand, two can play at this game and it’s a game Misha very much enjoys. Without warning, he lifts his hand and brings it palm-side down on Jensen’s denim-clad ass with an audible thwack.  
  
Not only can Misha hear Jensen’s sharp intake of breath, he can feel the shudder reverberate through Jensen’s body like the aftershocks of an earthquake, transferring through Misha’s skin at every point of contact.  All of a sudden it’s like a dam breaks and he wants.  
  
Jensen is clearly on board because what started as a loose embrace is suddenly a dirty grind and Misha can feel just how interested he is by the hard line of Jensen’s cock pressing greedily into the junction of his hip and thigh. Misha tips back his head and groans. “Dammit, Jen, we don’t have a lot of time.”  
  
“Then stop wasting it,” is Jensen’s hurried reply between simultaneously trying to catch Misha’s lips between his teeth and fumbling at his belt buckle. 

Impatient, Misha grabs Jensen’s hands and pushes them towards his own fly. He makes fast work of the belt and button fly of his jeans and the second he completes his task, his focus is back on kissing Jensen, angling their mouths together properly and diving in with his tongue to meet the heat that is suddenly radiating. When he feels Jensen’s fist wrap loosely around his cock, Misha chases the pressure with his hips, intent on memorising the feel of Jensen’s individual fingerprints on the most sensitive part of his body. 

Jensen is pressing urgent kisses behind his ear and Misha shivers, his body spontaneously  reacting to every sensation, even the goosebumps on his forearms.

“You’re pushy today, Mr. Ackles.  Any particular reason?”  
  
Jensen answers, first, by using his infamous bow-legs to shuffle Misha backwards until he feels the kitchen island bump his lower back, all while keeping up an almost perfect rhythm of firm strokes on Misha’s cock. He’s impressed actually, and turned on as all hell.  Take charge Jensen is one of Misha’s favourite kinks and he doesn’t get to have it all that often.  
  
Face to face, Misha can see the barely restrained desire in Jensen’s eyes; he’s fighting the need to release control, but he’s stubborn, and he’ll play this out because he’s doing it for Misha.  
  
“I’m taking care of you, baby,” Jensen replies, his voice deep and distracted from arousal as his free hand wanders up under Misha’s t-shirt, tracing his fingers across the firm lines of his chest. Jensen knows full-well that Misha’s nipples are one of his most erogenous zones and he takes full advantage of that fact every chance he gets. When Jensen pinches his nipple between two fingers and tugs, Misha can’t help but moan, loud enough that anyone near the trailers could definitely hear.  Porn star quality for sure. 

“Ahh, that’s more like it,” Jensen purrs, the pride evident in his voice, “let’s just pretend your day starts right here,” a flood of arousal ricochets though Misha’s body when Jensen gives his nipple a rough twist, “and right now,” Jensen finishes by rocking their desperate cocks together to attempt to conjure some friction. 

Misha melts into Jensen’s touch, this morning’s mood disappearing into the fluidity of Jensen’s fingers as they tamper down Misha’s natural dominance. He tips his head back.  “Fuck, Jen,” Misha is reduced to nearly begging. “I need -“ 

“I know what you need.” Jensen’s hand leaves Misha’s cock and he immediately misses the heat; although, he desperately needs the reprieve for his sanity. “I know.” Jensen lowers himself to his knees slowly peppering kisses along Misha’s stomach and sinful hipbone as he goes. “Exactly,” He mouths into the juncture between hip and thigh while he’s yanking Mish’s pants and boxers down in one two-handed tug until they naturally stop around mid-thigh. “What you need.” 

Jensen sucks him down in one fluid motion. There's no wasting time because he knows exactly what Misha fucking needs and it’s this: hot, dirty, fast, now. 

His hands grip the counter top; fingertips white with the pressure of how wound up he is, arms stiff and head thrown back as he restrains himself from fucking up into Jensen’s face like every fibre of his being is pleading him to. Jensen is taking him apart, one brain cell at a time and the entire stages and lot could explode around them right now taking his trailer with it and Misha isn’t sure he’d even notice, let alone give a shit.  
  
Letting the kitchen counter take his weight, Misha finally allows his fingers to escape into Jensen’s hair. He yanks on the short gelled strands and tips his lover’s head back just enough to look through fluttering lashes to the spit-slick lips that are salaciously wrapped around his cock.  
  
“God damnit, Jensen. Watching you suck dick is a spiritual experience.”  
  
Jensen pulls off with a pop and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, which should absolutely not be as hot as it is, before grinning at Misha.  “Is that because it’s your dick thats in my mouth?”  
  
“Better not be anyone else’s,” Misha says with a quick wave of possessiveness that’s gone almost as fast as it surfaces.  It’s enough to get Jensen’s attention.  
  
“Only you baby,” Jensen sighs between licks and kisses.  He works his way from the base of Misha’s cock, where his nimble fingers are currently doing fantastic things to Misha’s balls, to the tip where Misha knows he’s already dripping.  Once there, Jensen works his tongue eagerly into his leaking slit, lapping up everything Misha gives him.  
  
“Just us and our girls, Mish, always,” Jensen whispers into Misha’s skin as he clumsily shoves his own boxers down far enough to grasp his dick with one hand while using the other to grab a generous handful of Misha’s ass and guide him back into his waiting mouth. Misha cradles Jensen’s head in his hands and and let’s Jensen set the pace, uncaring that the drawer handle is digging into his ass cheek, or that they probably should’ve left for the makeup trailer five minutes ago. Misha focuses on the indescribable feeling of his stiff cock sliding in and out the velvet heat of Jensen’s mouth, drenched in warmth and wetness, bumping the back of his throat each time.  
  
A couple of well-timed squeezes to his ass are all it takes for him to understand what Jensen wants. He widens his fingers on Jensen’s scalp, threading them into the short, choppy strands of hair, as he tilts Jensen’s head up just enough to be able to see his eyes clearly. Jensen doesn’t need to move; Misha can see the consent; unrestrained, uncoerced, and laser focused.  
  
Jensen picks up where he left off, but this time, Misha doesn’t hold back. He meets Jensen thrust for thrust until he can see tears pooling in the corner of Jensen’s eyes and Misha is so close he isn’t sure if he’s actually hearing himself chanting Jensen’s name or it’s just some  imagined noise in his ears. He chooses that exact moment to glance down and seeing Jensen’s red lips stretched around his cock and his fist flying over his own. the glistening slit of Jensen’s purple cockhead slipping from between his tight fingers is picture that throws Misha over the edge.  
  
“Fuck. Oh my god. Jen. Fuuuuuuuuuck,” Misha mumbles almost incoherently as he fucks into Jensen’s perfect mouth, the sight of Jensen stripping his own cock and totally getting off on pleasing Misha, has him coming harder than he has from a damn blow job in a hell of a long time.  
  
Jensen swallows everything down, sucking and licking him clean, never slowing down his frantic pace but letting out a choked moan as Misha’s softening cock slips from between his slack lips - strings of saliva and cum just adding to the already sinful picture that Misha wishes he could physically store and save along with so many other still shots of Jensen he has permanently etched in his mind.  
  
Misha awkwardly slides down the cabinets to the linoleum floor. His pants and briefs are tangled around his hips making it impossible to do anything but kneel in almost the identical position as Jensen. His first instinct is to pull Jensen in for a crushing kiss but his hands have other ideas, one joining Jensen’s in pumping his dick while the other reaches just a little further to just behind his balls. It’s that one simple touch that pistons Jensen’s hips forwards, jerking him into orgasm with a yell and a cry.  
  
“Fuck, baby!” Jensen pants, his forehead meeting Misha’s as they join to watch Jensen’s release bubble over, spurting just enough to catch the hem of Misha’s shirt.  
  
Misha can’t do anything but inhale their combined breath and Jensen isn’t faring any better as he comes down from his post-orgasmic high.  

Within a few minutes, the reality of their current situation starts to seep in; Misha’s calf starts to cramp and the sticky mess between them is cooling into something much less arousing than it had been a few minutes before.  
  
“As much as I would love to cuddle up on this cold, semen-covered, linoleum floor with you for the rest of the day,” Misha says, kissing Jensen with a soft smile, “I suspect they’ll be sending out a search party shortly to find out why neither of us have made it to make-up yet.”  
  
Jensen laughs, pulling himself to his feet with a groan.  “You’re not wrong.” He holds out a crusty hand to Misha with a wink, who looks at it, raising an eyebrow, and takes it anyway.  
  
“I think I better change my shirt and wash my hands.”  
  
“I think you’re onto something, Mish,” Jensen replies with a genuine grin and a quick kiss to the forehead.  “I’ll catch you in a few minutes,” is the last thing Misha hears as his trailer door closes with a quiet click.

Several hours of filming an indoor scene at a nearby convenience store, not to mention the extracurricular activities before that, serves to put the morning’s funk in Misha’s rear window.  Yes, it’s been a lot of standing around checking obscure news sites and scrolling through Twitter, but that’s par for the course on a location shoot - mostly you just hope for half-ass decent wifi. 

The crew are as efficient as they can be and it’s still early enough in the day that he, Jared and Jensen aren’t driving each other too crazy with boredom yet. They’ve all Facetimed their wives and giggled with their kids and the only item of consequence is Shep’s paper cut which Tom has deemed serious and requires not one, but three Michelangelo Band Aids.  Jared had done a fantastic job of keeping a straight face through that exchange and Misha was both impressed with Jared’s acting skills and pleased that West and Maison were the boring ones for once.  
  
Misha’s coverage is next up so he takes his mark across the counter from the nervous looking kid playing the cashier and waits for the slate. When the camera moves in and the scene is called, Misha reaches in his pocket and recites his line. “Agent Spears, FBI. I need to ask you a few ques…..what the fuck?” 

All eyes are on him now that he’s completely screwed up his coverage, thanks to whoever replaced Cas’ FBI badge with a string of no less than two-dozen brightly wrapped condoms, which are currently dangling from his right hand. 

Misha scans the room to see who’s laughing the loudest.  It’s a tough one. Even the cashier-kid is in on the action now with his hand over his mouth trying to suppress a giggle.  He knows as soon as he locks eyes with the culprit though. There’s a sparkle in those green eyes that just screams guilty. 

“Fucking, Jackles!  You think you’re pretty funny don’t you?” Misha whispers once he’s made it over to where Jensen and Jared are standing by the glass doors attempting to look nonchalant and failing miserably.  The camera crew is resetting the shot so he has a minute or two to decide whether he wants to strangle his friend with the condom strip or save them for something much more satisfying later. 

Jensen hooks their fingers together under Cas’ trench and squeezes, just for a moment, well aware no one can see under the lengths of tan fabric. “You’re still so easy,” he reveals with a smirk, before turning and walking away with a quick wink.  Misha can’t help but admire the way Jensen strides away with such a confident swagger. The bow-legs help, of course, but so much of it is Jensen being more relaxed and comfortable in his own skin. Misha likes to believe maybe he had a tiny little part in that.  He pockets the condoms, in his pants this time, thoughts of Jensen’s fine ass on his mind as he meanders back to his mark. 

When they finally call lunch mid-afternoon, Misha is desperate for a cup of strong tea and some downtime. He’s absorbed enough human energy for now and although his stomach is growling, reminding him he’s only eaten a handful of gummies and a power bar since this morning and the wafting scent of curry from the green machine is enticing, he decides to head for his trailer first for tea and quiet. He’s got plenty of food stashed there anyway if he doesn’t feel like making an appearance again until call time. 

Misha sighs contentedly as he grabs his favourite mug, a hand painted Elopus that was a gift from a fan a few years back, and reaches into the jar for a tea bag.  He’d be surprised if the entire set doesn’t hear him yell when what his fingers come back with isn’t tea, but yet another foil condom packet. 

“You’re such a fucking asshole, Jackles,” he chuckles to himself as he starts pulling out drawers and cabinets, searching for his missing tea. It only takes a quick text to find out the tea is in his knitting basket, along with several new varieties of loose green tea he’s been wanting to try, and roughly scribbled note. 

  
_Mish,_

_I know you just called me an asshole, or a fucker, or maybe even both. Hopefully the tea makes up for it and you still love me as much as I love you. If nothing else, I’m sure we can make use of the condoms ;-)_ _  
_ _Call me. <3 _ _  
_ _J._ _  
  
_

Fucking, Jackles. Misha touches the note to his lips and grabs his phone.  
  
  


**III.  Jensen Ackles**

Jensen Ackles is a consummate professional.  Even allowing fans into his personal bubble, and letting loose at conventions and events, he never completely lets his guard down when he’s aware he’s on on display. Jensen is in complete control of his public persona. He genuinely enjoys fan interactions (most of the time) and is still in awe of the concept of fandom, but he’s well aware that in this business he’s a commodity just as much as he’s a person and image matters. By nature, Jensen is pretty shy anyway and keeping his personal life on the down-low is second nature to him. 

Misha watches the Jensen Ackles mask slide into place as they drop hands just before walking into the photo op room. Just moments before, Jensen had been trailing a swath of open mouthed kisses across the rise of Misha’s adam’s apple, reasoning that they wouldn’t get another chance for several hours and he needed to feel Misha’s pulse against his lips one more time.  Misha had been putty in Jensen’s capable hands, his ability to stay silent being severely tested when they weren’t the only occupants of the main restroom in a busy hotel hallway. Jensen knows where Misha’s weak spots are; the pressure points that make Misha cry out. Now, as they stand in front of Chris’ backdrop, waiting for the volunteers to let the line loose, they’re both smiling and laughing and Jensen is composed and ready.  He’s got his game face on, and they both know how to play like the professionals they are. 

They work together like a finely oiled machine: moving in and out of each pose with a fluidity born of an intimacy only a handful of people in the room are aware of but most likely suspect. Fans blush through requests that have them both tipping their heads back with infectious laughter.  Jensen feeds from the mood in the room and Misha delights in every breath Jensen gifts him. The line takes it back in spades and it comes full circle. 

Bluesy rock plays in the background, a song Misha can’t immediately identify even though he hums along to the melody anyway, tired but smiling as he grasps Jensen’s hand at the request of a young smiling fan with bright blue hair. 

By the time they’re finished navigating photo ops and autographs, it’s well after ten and the green room is deserted. The ugly upholstered metal chairs are stacked against the back wall and the worn, white cloths have already been stripped from the tables. Misha makes his way to the corner and snags a bottle of water, holding up a second one to Jensen who is right on his heels. Jensen shakes his head so Misha returns it to the table and grabs a handful of grapes instead. They chat a few minutes with their handlers, thanking them for a great weekend. The familiar staff don’t stick around too long; it’s late, it’s been a busy weekend, and they have flights to catch to get home to their own families. 

Jensen drags Misha to a leather sofa, one of a set of three, arranged in a haphazard triangle around a small table in the center of the room. They’d been in this exact position earlier in the day, Misha remembers. There’d been about ten minutes, just after Jensen and Jared’s morning panel, when most of their friends had been kicking around. Everyone had migrated over to the couches and they’d just chilled.  Misha thinks Jensen may be thinking of the same thing. A soft fondness has chased away the tiredness around Jensen’s eyes and he’s cuddled into Misha’s side in a way that wasn’t possible with this morning’s audience. Misha can feel Jensen shedding his skin the longer they sit in silence; shifting the mood from exhausted friends to snuggly, secret lovers. Misha enjoys the transformation, basking in the intimacy and closeness that he always craves but only occasionally gets to savor.  
  
It only takes a few drifts of Jensen’s fingers drumming a staccato on the heated skin under the hem of Misha’s shirt and he’s already completely forgotten they’re in a semi public place.  He’s gently licking over the small bruise he just sucked into the skin right above Jensens left pec when the door to the green room opens and it takes an extra second before he remembers to stop what he’s doing with his tongue and sit back.  
  
“Y’all couldn’t wait ‘til you get in the car, at least?”  
  
“Fuck off,” is the only reply that comes to mind. When Misha sees Clif saunter in behind Jared, he knows their few moments of peace are really over.  
  
Jensen rolls himself off the couch, stretching his tanned and toned body until his jeans shift on his hips and his shirt rides up. Misha knows it’s intentional.  Lifting kegs agrees with Jensen. He may fret about lines and wrinkles when he gets twisted into one of his ‘we’re the Grandpas of our network’ moods, but one whisper from Misha about how he’s more beautiful now than he’s ever been, with his crinkled bright eyes and perfect jawline, is enough to shut him up and make him blush over every freckle on his perfect face.  
  
Clif is rolling his eyes, no doubt at the scene he and Jensen are making.  So shoot them; it’s been a long weekend and all he wants to do is get back home, tuck Jensen into his bed, and wake him tomorrow with slow, glorious morning sex, and pancakes with his homemade blackberry jam before they drive into work together.  It’s something they do if Jared flies back to Austin after a con weekend and Jensen still has to work. Vicki and Jensen both love the opportunity to at least say hi in person. No one questions it, or if they do they’re quiet about it.  
  
It doesn’t take long for Clif to usher the three of them out the rear door of the hotel and into the waiting towncar.  Misha doesn’t remember the ride to the airport, but he does remember Jen’s hand slipping into his as they pull away from the curb. Out of sight, Jensen Ackles can sink into Misha’s touch, lose the formality of the weekend, and finally relax.    
  
  
**IV.  J**  
  
If there’s one thing Misha knows he’s blessed with, it’s great friends.  He has friends all over the world who do amazing, fascinating things. It blows his mind sometimes when he thinks about it, all the people he’s encountered and befriended over the years.  He’s humbled that they’ve each found something in him worth spending their precious time on, and he thanks them silently for that when his thoughts wander their way.  
  
Like anyone, he has some friends that stick closer than others.  Darius, who's seen him through every crisis since middle school and still does, and there’s Philip, who is literally his right hand for almost everything Random Acts and his frequent travel partner. No one enjoys an adventure more than Philip.  His dear friend’s recent marriage to the lovely Hilary was a memory he’ll treasure. Watching his children stand up for one of his dearest friends, their ‘Wizard’, and reading his own words out loud, had been such a magical moment in time. Other dear friends include the art collective in LA, people he’s worked with on inspiring projects since he was a struggling actor, and, of course, the cast: Jared, and Rob, and Bri and Kim and the others...and never forget, J.  When they’re in friend mode, just shooting the shit with the gang, J seems to slide off Misha’s tongue more readily than Jensen or anything more intimate, so he goes with it.  
  
His thoughts wander easily to his co-star, best friend, lover, poly-husband, and he smiles easily. Even having to stay twenty minutes later than the pranking twosome can’t sour Misha’s mood for long when he starts thinking about Jensen. Glancing down at his crumpled suit and tie, Misha gambles whether it’s worth changing into his own clothes before he runs over to Jensen’s trailer.  He’s already late and getting lost in a daydream on the way over to his trailer hadn’t helped. He decides a couple more minutes isn’t going to make or break anything and he’s had enough of Cas’ invariable wardrobe for a few hours. He’s back in his standard jeans, tee, and button-down and finally feeling like he’s ready to kick some ass when his phone buzzes just as he’s about to slip it in his pocket.  A quick glance and a swipe and he’s smiling as he greets his wife.  
  
“Hey, Vick.”  
  
_“Hey, baby. You’re not filming, are you?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“_ Nope. Just started lunch, actually,” Misha replies fondly.  Vicki is intelligent, beautiful, delightfully weird, and he adores her, but she does have this odd habit of always calling during scenes, or con panels, or meet and greets.  It’s almost uncanny, so now she always asks first. It makes him laugh every time that she’s so paranoid about it now that she’s told him to _fuck off_ so many times in front of hundreds of fans.  
  
“ _Oh good.”_ He can hear the smiled relief in her voice. “ _Today’s the brainstorming meeting with the gang about E4K, right?  Do you have any big ideas?”_ _  
_ _  
_ He hums for a second, trying to determine if anything that’s crossed his mind is really a viable E4K plan.  “Not really,” he finally decides “I’m hoping to come up with something earth shattering on the fly, or maybe one of the guys will come through.”  
  
Vicki laughs and it sounds like bells and Misha feels all the negative energy he’s been storing since he left the set bleed away as it always does when he hears the serenity in his wife’s voice.  She really is his rock. He doesn’t know what he’d do without her whimsical and quirky, yet always steady and grounding force.  
  
_“I don’t even want to imagine, knowing the group of you together,”_ Vicki manages to choke out between chuckles. _“I came up with a few ideas, but if you didn’t squash them, Jensen definitely would.  I'm not sure I have enough of a read on the others._  

“Your ideas are always trouble, my love, we don’t want to break any laws or send anyone to the hospital here,” Misha says with a grin that he knows is big enough to show off his teeth and gums.  He’s glad there’s no one around with a smartphone.  
  
_“Well I’ll let you go talk to your friends,_ ” Vicki soothes, _“I just called to wish you luck mostly, and to let you know the school called and West snuck a porn magazine in for show and tell today.”_ _  
__  
_ Misha jumps “Why didn’t you lead with that?  Where the hell did he get porn?”  
  
“You tell me?” His wife replies and Misha can picture her stance and her accusing face as if she were standing two feet in front of him and not across an international border.  
  
“Well, yeah, I guess it could’ve been mine,” Misha mumbles, feeling well and truly chastised now that his son has apparently been looking at his porn, assorted and informative though it might be. “I’m off tomorrow.  I’ll talk to him,” he says, already dreading that conversation. “Who ever decided procreating was a good idea anyway?”  
  
Vicki roars with laughter this time. “Pretty sure it was you actually, but we were both on board, so we both deal with the consequences.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah,” Misha groans.  “I better go, I’m already pretty late.  I’ll tell the boys you said hello.”  
  
_“Tell them I say ‘Love Trumps Hate’,”_ Vicki says with conviction. _“Not that I think they don’t know that, but everyone needs a reminder.  Tell them to tell their friends.”_ _  
_  
“You got it, Vick.  Love you,” Misha replies with a smile.  
  
By the time he shuffles down a couple of trailers and raps hastily on the door of his friend’s on-set home, Misha’s mostly managed to switch gears and he’s ready to kick around ideas with the boys.  
  
“Get in here, Mish!” he hears Jensen’s muffled through the closed door, so he lets himself in, unsurprised to see he and Jared already assembled at the small table with Jared’s laptop open to a Skype window of Jason’s living room.  Jason and Rob are lounging on the sofa laughing over something Misha clearly just missed, each with a beer in their hands. The whiskey tumblers are poured, Jared and Jensen have their phones out and ready, and it’s clear his friends are just waiting on him to get started. 

“We were beginning to wonder if they were ever gonna release you today,” Jensen continues in a quieter tone this time.  “They finally happy with your coverage?” It’s impossible for Misha to ignore the playful smirk on Jensen’s face, where he’s tracking Misha’s movements with his too-green eyes. 

“Fuck you, J,” Misha replies with as little venom as he can muster.    
  
Jensen knows he’s the reason Misha is late and he knows Misha knows. It’s like Jensen is pulling his pigtails trying desperately to get his attention but yet they’re already fucking. Jared is chuckling too. Misha swears they feed off each other like prepubescent boys. He shoves thoughts of immature, pranking coworkers aside and slides in beside Jensen. The bright amber liquid sloshes up the sides of the glass when Jensen pours a healthy two fingers and slides it across the table in front of him. In an action born more from politeness and habit rather than desire for the actual bourbon in the moment, Misha finds himself wrapping his fingers around the glass, comforted by the coolness against his skin, and tips most of it back in one swallow. 

“Okay. Well, I’m here now,” he states as he returns the glass to the table but keeps his hand on it. “We’ve all talked in passing about wanting to do something as a group to feed kids.”  Misha knows he has everyone’s attention immediately. They may joke around, but they’ve all talked about this and they’re serious. He’s had separate conversations with everyone in this room recently about how privileged they feel every time they open their two-door fridge or enjoy a meal in a restaurant without having to worry about covering the bill at the end; he’s even chatted with the board at Random Acts about their involvement in something big this fall. They just need ideas. That’s what this meeting is for. 

Jason jumps in first.  He’s always quick to throw his ideas out there. Misha’s always been fond of Jason and his enthusiasm is one of the many reasons why.  “So, what about _Tough Mudder_ again? We could crowdfund for that.”  
  
Jared’s face lights up at the possibility but it falls again just as quickly. “Tough Mudder was a blast but we should probably do something new, plus it needs to be something Rachel can participate in.  She really wants to be part of this too.” 

The disappointment on his friends’ faces is evident and it takes Misha back a couple of years to when he had planned to participate in the _Tough Mudder_ but had been pulled away for an event he couldn’t say no to at the last minute.  Misha had been confident in his decision at the time, being in Nicaragua was the clear choice, but in those moments after the race when everyone was laughing and sharing pictures, he’d missed not being part of the comradery.    
  
Misha considers the idea.  Something along those lines is what they need though, something that will connect to their fans in the same way and have that same sense of family, but they need to think bigger.   

“It needs to be something unexpected and, like Jared said, something we haven’t done yet.  If we use Endure for Kindness as the catalyst, then it also needs to be something that pushes our limits, mentally, physically or even both.”  

Jensen pours another shot of whiskey into Misha’s empty glass and nudges him in the shoulder playfully.  He glances up to see everyone else deep in thought, sipping on their drinks, carefully considering what he’d just said.  
  
It’s rare that the five of them are silent.  Laughter is the default when they’re all in the same room, but music, conversation, even snores are certainly possible; quiet is very rare indeed.  Rob and Jason may not actually be present, but having them be part of the conversation makes it feel like one of those unusual con moments when they all manage to be in the green room at the same time, or the occasional summer BBQ or special event when they manage to make their busy schedules work to hang out.  Misha sips his drink, enjoying the burn of good bourbon as it tingles on first his taste buds, then the sensitive glans of his throat. The warmth tingles when it hits his belly and he enjoys the way it leaves him feeling just slightly buzzed.  
  
“I just had the best idea ever!” he shouts out of nowhere because it literally just popped into his head.  “The timing is perfect, it’s big, it’s challenging, it’s accessible, it’s unexpected. Everyone is gonna love it!” 

“Which means we’re all gonna hate it,” Jared pipes in with a belly laugh, unable to control his urge to keep things as light as possible in almost every situation. It’s one of the things Misha loves most about him, honestly.  Jared has learned that one of the easiest ways to keep himself smiling is to keep his world smiling right alongside him. It doesn’t work for everything but Misha isn’t willing to upset the times it does.  
  
“Well, let’s hear it.” comes a soft-spoken voice from the laptop speaks. 

Misha looks over at Rob’s smiling face on the screen. Up until this moment he’s been pretty quiet and low-key.  “You sure you wanna know, Robert?”  
  
Rob actually giggles, which Misha will never not find endearing.  “Probably not, but I feel like I’m committed now.”  
  
“We won’t end up committed, will we?” Jason asks in a steady enough voice that Misha thinks he might actually be serious.  
  
“For fuck’s sake, you guys,” he manages to choke out “I’m serious actually.  I do have a great idea.”  
  
Suddenly, there is silence again and four pairs of eyes are zoned in on him, necks stretched out towards him expectantly, but it’s Jensen that finally speaks.  “Let’s hear it then, Mish.”  
  
Misha clears his throat and smiles.  “We can run the Seattle Marathon.” 

Jensen’s eyes widen and Misha can see the moment it registers what Misha has just said; the shock on his face is clear.  His words are clipped and serious, yet Misha can still see the glitter of humour behind them. Jensen isn’t angry, but he’s something.  “That’s the worst fucking idea I’ve ever heard!”  
  
Jared and Rob both open their mouths, more than likely to agree with their friend, but they don’t get the chance because Jensen hurriedly continues, “What the hell!  I’m in!”  
  
“Me too,” Jared adds quickly from across the table.  “Gotta agree about what dumbass idea it is though. What the hell, Collins?”  
  
Misha finds he’s feeling a bit apprehensive about looking up at Rob and Jason, but it turns out he needn’t be; Rob jumps in right away.  “How could I turn down the chance to outrun you three?” His nervous feeling has already been replaced by joy by the time Jason opens his mouth.  
  
“Guess I better clean the closet and find my running shoes,” he says with a grin that Misha can’t help but copy. “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” Jason mumbles under his breath as he shakes his head.  
  
Without warning, Jensen downs the whiskey left in his glass and slams it down. He throws his arm up in the air, punching the theatrics in that seamless way only Jensen can, and casually announces:  “I’ve got it! We’ll call it the _Bad Idea Tour_ and market the ever living fuck out of it.” Jensen’s excitement is clearly amped by the end.  
  
Misha can’t stop the grin that instantly spreads across his face at the sight of Jensen so clearly fired up.  It’s a good look, one that he files away expressly for another time. The idea is perfect. The fans are gonna eat it up and it’ll be something to challenge them all personally too.  A goal of sorts that they can coach each other through. It’s gonna be a disaster - but a fun and lucrative one. The charities they’ve chosen will be shocked by what they accomplish, but they always are when the Supernatural family rallies for good.  His monstrous grin settles into a soft smile. Misha is so damn proud of their fans.  
  
He glances around the table, taking in the excited smiles of some of his best friends and as it always does, his gaze lingers a little too long on Jensen.  “That’s one hell of an idea, J,” Misha says as he grabs Jensen’s fist and gives it a squeeze. They lower their hands, only breaking eye contact just before their elbows hit the table, the lecherous wink of Jensen’s is a momentary reminder to Misha that he has plenty to look forward to after they wrap for the night.  He reluctantly turns his attention back to the task at hand and swipes to open Google docs on his iPhone. “Okay guys, let’s make this happen.”  
  
“Wait a minute,” Jared interrupts. “I have an idea that will get the SPN Family FBI working overtime.”  
  
Jensen, Misha, and Jason all groan at the same time but it’s Jensen that actually says something. “Don’t rile them up, Jare.” Jensen makes a stirring motion with his finger in the air in front of him.  “They’re kinda like a hive of bees - loved, needed, beautiful, hard working, and then you go and upset them and they swarm and sting and riot and it’s awful. You’ve witnessed it. Hell you’ve been stung by it.  You don’t wanna upset the bees, bro.”  
  
“No, no, it’s nothing bad, just something to keep them wondering.”  
  
Misha watches with genuine amusement while Jensen and Jared film a few seconds of their somewhat inebriated selves, laughing about this really bad idea.  Right at the end of the video, Jensen glances over at Misha and smiles before looking back at the camera and laughing again. Sometime in the not too distant future, either Jared or Jensen will post the video on Instagram and take it down right away.  The fans will ask about it, of course, but they’re not telling.  
  
Misha can’t help but wonder if this ‘bad idea’ might turn out to be one of the best ideas he’s ever had. It’s definitely gonna be interesting.  
  
  
**V.  Nesnej**  
  
Misha could always appreciate the view, but with the slight buzz from two glasses of a very good Quail’s Gate, Chasselas-Pinot Blanc-Pinot Gris, the tipsy bodies leaning at the bar and moving on the dance floor have mesmerized him enough to want to rest his elbows on the maple bar-shelf behind him and cross one leg over the other to watch. To the untrained eye, he might be slowly scanning the crowd , but his gaze is locked on one person, and one person only.  
  
Misha’s eyes not-so-casually rove down Jensen’s tailored navy button-down. It has a barely visible rose-pink stripe that Misha knows is there only because he hand-picked the high-end garment out of Jensen’s closet earlier, just before they’d shared a steamy shower and soapy handjobs. Of course, thinking about what Jensen’s perfectly pressed shirttails are helping to conceal only heightens Misha’s interest in what’s going on over at the bar.  
  
To say that Jensen Ackles attracts a crowd would be an understatement; the man is flower pollen to bees and just as exquisite.  The juxtaposition between sweet, southern charm and bold, confident swagger serves him perfectly; that, and the fact that, Misha notices, Jensen has already switched from wine to whiskey, means he’s flushed and giggly, chatty and affectionate, and downright irresistible.  Misha’s feet are moving before the last thought really has time to marinate.  
  
Jensen’s head is tilted back in silent laughter, his whiskey tumbler darting dangerously through the air as he uses the full length of his arm to punctuate his point. Even with the increased body movement, Misha notes Jensen is still steady on his feet. The woman beside him, no one Misha recognises which is a bit of a red flag in itself, is sitting much too close; she doesn’t look dangerous, just a tad too interested. She’s likely someone’s plus one, or maybe a magazine editor, although he’s at least familiar with the staff from most of the local entertainment and arts publications.  It doesn’t matter, Misha decides, these cast and crew events are just an excuse for a night of drunken debauchery before closing out the season; hell, half the time he, Jensen, and Jared have something calling them away and they’re lucky if they even make it. When Jay had said both he and Jared were sticking around this year, Misha had made it a priority to be available. They could all use a locked-down, let loose night, which is why he’s heading over to the bar now to stake his claim.  
  
He’s at Jensen’s side in a smattering of heartbeats, not a moment too soon by the look of relief and adoration on his friend’s face.  “Miiiiiiiisha,” Jensen drags out excitedly, moss green eyes sparkling up at him from the bar stool where Misha has his arm draped loosely but protectively across Jensen’s shoulders.  “Good to see you, buddy,” Jensen continues, his southern inflection washing over Misha like sweet honey whiskey.  
  
Misha chuckles at Jensen’s exuberance; it’s both comical and delightful.  “It’s damn good to see you too, Nesnej,” he replies, giving Jensen’s bicep a gentle squeeze.  Damn, he can’t help but love it a little bit when Jensen’s tipsy. He’s just the perfect combination of affectionately adorable and down-right edible. Misha’s mouth begins to water at the thought and he shifts his hips to relieve the pressure, hoping the brush against worn denim will be enough to take the edge off a bit. He’s been watching too long and right now Misha knows he’s only a sweet blush or a rumbled laugh away from pushing Jensen up against the unforgiving wood of the bar edge and sliding to his knees.  
  
“J-Rod calls me that when I’m whiskey-drunk,” Jensen counters, stretching back against the bar and giving Misha sly glance from under his fluttering eyelashes. “Pretty sure I’m not quite thaaaaat far gone yet.”  
  
Misha glances around wondering when Jensen’s previous conversation partner disappeared.  The party continues around them with loud music, low lighting, and free-flowing booze. Since the talent are in attendance, it’s a no phones event, meaning everyone’s relaxed and dancing and no one’s paying them any attention.  Misha takes another step, bracketing Jensen against the bar, his previous thought still fresh in his mind. He leans in as close as he dares, just teetering the line of being able to explain it all away if caught, and whispers, “are you sure?”  
  
The moss green of Jensen’s eyes darkens to a deep jade and the teasing glint gives way to such a sudden spark of intensity that Misha has to press a thumb to Jensen’s clavicle to gain purchase on it. “How do you feel, baby?” he whispers, acutely aware of every muscle twitch and freckle shade on Jensen’s beautiful face, even in the near darkness.  He slowly circles the pad of his thumb along Jensen’s shoulder blade, mindful not to grasp the fabric of his shirt. “Tell me what you want.”  
  
The slight submissive tilt of Jensen’s chin is noticeable to no one but Misha, as is, he hopes, the fact that he’s now walking his fingertips up over the baby fine hair at the base of Jensen’s neck. Jensen sucks in a shaky breath and surprisingly remembers to glance up and around before replying.  
  
“What I want is to be anywhere but in this room so we don’t have an audience when I drop to my knees and suck your dick.” Jensen punctuates his words by taking the last step needed to align their hips for a sinuous roll - a sexy grind in perfect time to the sensual electronic music that also controls the pulsing lights. Maybe they are a little drunk.    
  
Misha can feel his tether nearing its snapping point.  “I’m walking out of here to grab my phone from coat check. I have to make a call.” Misha rolls his hips again, unable to control himself around Jensen. The fact that he doesn’t reach down to feel Jen’s glorious dick through his damn jeans is a fucking miracle at this point.  “I’m guessing you gotta get rid of a few beers by now?”  
  
Jensen nods. It’s clear his limits are being seriously tested by the look of open desire clear in his dark eyes and the flush making its way from his neck to his pin-prickled, heated cheeks. Misha is so ready to kiss every salty freckle.  
  
“I’ll meet you in the little boy’s room in five minutes,” Misha whispers in Jensen’s ear and walks away. 

Grabbing his phone and leaving a quick voicemail for Vicki and the kids only takes a few moments and he’s swiping absently through Twitter near the coat check when he sees Jensen and Clif entering the main foyer of the restaurant. Misha pockets his phone and watches while they chat, their hands and arms moving animatedly, a sure sign they’ve both had a few too many. He’s too far away to hear what they’re saying, but he can see Clif smile and laugh when Jensen pats him on the shoulder before heading for the men’s room.  Clif gives Misha a wave and a smirk when he passes and Misha decides then and there that Jensen’s ass is gonna be extra red tonight. Over the knee spanking is just what a bratty little shit needs for tattling.  
  
You know you’re in a classy restaurant when there are lit candles in the bathroom.  The glossy black and chrome monstrosity of a room is ridiculous and Misha shakes his head and giggles under his breath at the idea of whipping his dick out and pissing on the flame flickering six inches from the urinal.  Some things about being rich he’ll never get used to.  
  
“You just gonna stand there and admire all the frivolity?”  
  
Misha whips his head around to see Jensen leaning against the wall in the far corner of the, frankly, giant room. He’s pretty sure he’s lived in apartments smaller than this.  
  
“Big word,” Misha, teases. “I’d rather admire something else.”  
  
“See anything you like?”  
  
Jensen used to be a model and it’s fair to say he pretty much still is. Nesnej lacks a little of Jensen’s finesse and a lot of his fine motor skills, but he definitely still has everything else.  With one perfect arm propping him against the ornate wall and the other tucking his hand into the pocket of a pair of sinfully snug, slim-cut black jeans, Jensen is one pretty silhouette in the candlelight and Misha is on him like a moth to a flame.  
  
Misha nods to answer Jensen’s stupid question because there’s no way he’s wasting breath on words. Before his thoughts have a chance to catch up to his actions, he finds his hands on either side of Jensen’s face, his fingers twisting and tugging into artfully spiked hair so that Jensen’s head tilts back at the perfect angle. Misha’s already chubbing up just from the fucking enticingly beautiful picture Jensen creates - the hint of stubble on that perfectly symmetrical jaw, and the rise of Jensen’s adam’s apple as he swallows a combination of excitement and nervous energy, unsure of Misha’s next move.  
  
The column of Jensen’s throat proves too much for Misha’s willpower and he drags a line of wet, open-mouthed kisses from just below the shell of Jensen’s ear to where the the collar of his shirt hints at an expanse of what Misha knows is soft freckled skin covering a firm chest and sensitive nipples. He wants to rip the damn thing off, and it’s only the nagging, miniscule, responsible, part of his brain reminding him that they’re at a party with no access to other clothing, that finally succeeds in getting his fingers to slow down and start pushing buttons through holes while his tongue works its way up Jensen’s jaw to his already parted lips. He can taste the raspberry liqueur from the the cheesecake they had for dessert on Jensen’s breath and he inhales sharply.  
  
“You wearing it?” he whispers, all the while feeling like his very life in this moment depends on Jensen’s answer.  
  
Misha finally releases the last button and celebrates by sweeping his palms up and over  Jensen’s stomach and chest and brushing greedy thumbs over erect nipples.  
  
‘Yesssss,” Jensen hisses out, rising to his tiptoes, his entire body visibly tightening like a cello bowstring from the attention to his sensitive chest.    
  
“Fuck, yes,” Misha mumbles under his breath. He reaches under Jensen’s arms and grips the back of his shoulders, thrusting their chests flush and sliding their mouths together for a sloppy kiss, all while propelling their bodies awkwardly backwards towards the row of stalls against the far wall.  

Clearly, upscale restaurants with equally high profile guests take the privacy of their clientele very seriously.  The stalls may be inconspicuous on the outside but once you shove your frantic lover through the matte black door and glance around, they’re actually pretty roomy with walls that reach from floor to ceiling. Yes, there’s a toilet in the corner, but there’s also a cushioned bench opposite and that’s where Misha heads, crowding Jensen up against the wall beside it until their bodies are perfectly aligned.  
  
He grips the fabric of Jensen’s shirt and shimmies it down the sliver of space between Jensen’s back and the wall. At the beautiful curve where Jensen’s spine meets his ass, Misha is able to slip the soft cotton out from behind and toss it on the bench. Having the man he loves standing shirtless and so effortlessly enticing in a public restroom in some fucking ‘hoity toity’ Yaletown restaurant has Misha painfully hard already and he grinds his hips into Jensen’s hoping for a little friction to take the edge off.  The angle isn’t right and Misha doesn’t want the frustration of repositioning until they both get relief; what he wants, is to feel Jensen writhing on his rock hard cock while he bucks up into his needy hole, and he wants it so badly he could fucking burst. If the way Jensen is rocking his pelvis into Misha’s is any indication, he’s chasing the same contact Misha is, his body on autopilot, eyes closed and palms flat to the wall, only his groin moving at all; he’s picture perfect submission and Misha is completely mesmerized.  
  
Jensen’s cock is straining the front of his jeans as he writhes his hips in small circles, his breaths becoming shallower.  Misha can feel the saliva pooling in his mouth as it always does with the initial sight of Jensen Ackles’ dick. He makes fast work of Jen’s belt buckle and fly and slides his hand over his soft lycra boxer briefs that leave nothing to the imagination when it comes to fondling and memorizing the solid outline of Jensen’s impressive cock.  Misha gives it a final squeeze, earning him an outright whine from Jensen before manhandling him by his fucking sinful hipbones and spinning him to face the wall. Misha grabs both of Jensen’s arms before he has the chance to adjust himself, and pins them to the wall over Jensen’s head. This is one of those times Misha curses the couple of inches Jensen has on him in height. As he painstakingly drags his fingernails down Jensen’s arms to eventually grasp his shoulders, he growls in Jensen’s ear.    
  
“Don’t move your hands.”  
  
Jensen nods, his cheek brushing against the wall, his body visibly affected, muscles tense. Misha kneads his shoulders, willing Jensen to relax, pressing his thumb into a knot of muscle on the base of Jensen’s neck just at his hairline and rubbing with varying degrees of pressure until he feels the knot loosen and release.  Misha repeats the process with both hands until Jensen’s is moaning under his touch and canting his hips back, his ass pressing against Misha’s crotch in a dirty grind while his hands stay splayed out on the wall above his head.

“I can’t believe you came here like this for me, my love,” Misha purrs soothing his supple hands in full sweeping circles down Jensen’s toned back. As his hands follow the sharp edges and gentle curves that lead to the slight rise of Jensen’s ass, Misha can’t help but groan his appreciation for the near perfection that is his man’s physical form. Jensen, or maybe it’s Nesnej right now, is the human precedent for which poetry exists and sculpture was invented. Misha takes his time appreciating the view while he finally sheds Jensen of his jeans and boxers. He crouches down to slide the slim denim down Jensen’s shapely calves and slide off his shoes. Public restroom or not, Misha wants Jensen unrestricted right now, not stuck with his jeans bunched around his ankles, held prisoner by his own expensive sneakers.  
  
Misha stands and takes a step back. He is fully clothed and Jensen is completely naked and that alone gives him pause - he lets his eyes wander slowly down Jensen’s lythe form, not only because he’s the most exquisite thing Misha’s ever seen but also because Misha needs to confirm for himself that his lover is still one hundred percent with him, especially with the amount of whiskey he knows Jensen has put back.  
  
His  arms hang rigid at his sides while Jensen’s palms are flat against the wall, yet Misha is the one feeling powerless right now. He doesn’t know if Jensen fully realizes the control he has. A single word, one ripple of discontent, and any semblance of power play ends instantaneously.  Jensen trusts Misha to take care of him, and that means he must know all of Jensen’s cues: the way his shoulders curl in to his knees when he’s unsure of something or the stutter in his voice when he needs to come. Right now, Misha can see that Jensen is wound tightly with need, like a wind-up toy that stands perfectly still, waiting for Misha to pull the string and send him spinning out of control.  
  
Misha grabs the meat of Jensen’s ass in his long slender fingers and squeezes, the result being that he can see the flat, wide end of the glass plug nestled snugly between Jensen’s cheeks and he can’t help but gasp at the sight. The toy was a gift from Danneel, unsurprisingly - a blown-glass plug with esoteric green and blue spirals that feather together. Dee said they reminded her of the unusual color combination of their eyes. She had watched it being made by a glass blower on Bourbon Street and been compelled to buy it. It has a wide base and it’s a good solid size. It’s fair to say, they both enjoy the gift immensely. When Jensen had threatened to wear it to the dinner party tonight, Misha had assumed he’d been joking. Not only is he surprised and turned on beyond belief, he’s fucking impressed! Jensen made it the entire evening with that thing in his ass, probably barraging him with a thrum of arousal every time he moved.  
  
Misha can’t take it anymore. He uses his thumbs to spread Jensen’s cheeks obscenely wide and meticulously tugs on the glass base of the plug. Jensen lets out a deep throated wail which Misha takes as encouragement to move the solid glass toy in an excruciatingly slow circle.  
  
“You’re so so ready for me aren’t you?”  
  
“Mish. Please.”  Jensen is desperate and pleading and still trying to find friction, pressing his leaking cock against the wall on the forward thrust and then backwards into the plug and Misha’s more than competent hands. “Mish. Please, baby. I need you to fuck me,” Jensen rasps when Misha finally starts teasing the plug in and out with the addition of the lube he’d tossed in his breast pocket as an afterthought as they were rushing out the door. Misha can’t stop staring at the plug getting sucked into Jensen’s greedy hole with every thrust. It’s so fucking dirty yet it feels so damn intimate to be pushing inside of Jensen with something Danneel gave them; like she’s there with them in some small way, reminding them of the deep connection the four of them all share.  
  
Finally, deeming Jensen well and truly ready, Misha makes fast work of his own clothes and shoes.  His cock is dark red and leaking from lack of attention and curving slightly upwards, hard and ready.  Misha gives himself a few cursory tugs to stop the buzzing in his head and refocuses on Jensen’s beautiful tanned form.  He eyes the bench beside them, easily picturing Jensen straddling it, maybe one knee planted on the velvet padding, beautiful back bowed and ass up, pleading with damp green eyes for Misha to get inside him already.  
  
Jensen still hasn’t moved his hands.  A shiver of pride rushes through Misha.  He can’t believe he gets to have this - this culmination of gifts that have enriched his life utterly - heart and soul. He has the righteous pleasure of taking Jensen apart, piece by incredible piece,  
and Jensen allows him along for the ride.  His life was pretty amazing before the Ackles’ crashed into his orbit; but now, it’s transcended beyond anything Misha can put words to.  
  
“I wish you could see yourself, Jen,” Misha croaks, surprised his voice works at all, shocked that he can be this turned on in a bathroom on a Friday evening in Yaletown, knowing that at any moment one of their co-workers could walk in and find him balls deep in Jensen Ackles’ ass.  Right this very moment, he decides, as he holds his dick loosely in his fist, gliding his thumb just softly over the glistening tip in a tantalizing shiver of not even close to enough, he couldn’t fucking give a shit.

“Kneel on the bench,” Mish commands and Jensen scrambles, barely wincing from the stiffness of leaning still for so long, but Misha notices. When he leans over to position Jensen’s left leg on the floor, Misha takes the opportunity to rub his fingers into the firm muscles of Jensen’s shoulders to ease his discomfort. 

Such an erotic vision Jensen makes, bent over and submissive, muscle tension releasing at Misha’s empathic touch. If Misha were the kind of man who needed power to reach his peak, this is where he would break; this is where he would take control of the scene and run away with it. Misha could never, would never, do that to Jensen. Misha loves playing with their role dynamics, and Jensen is such a natural sub he often drops into a scene without even realizing when the opportunity presents itself, but all Misha ever feels is awed and grateful that Jensen trusts him with that innermost piece of of himself.  
  
Misha kisses his way down the expanse of Jensen’s perfect back, slowly marking his way with nips and licks, rewarding every moan and arch with suction and a squeeze of Jensen’s ass.  That same ass is currently spread and presented for him, and him alone; the glass plug the only barrier to where Jensen is begging for him to go. When his lips finally reach the flared edge of the glass, Jensen’s hips buck involuntarily.  
  
“Can’t help it,” Jensen whines, struggling to speak; clearly. “Fuck, Dmitri, get on with it already.”  
  
Misha grins at Jensen’s bratty tone. He’s desperate and Misha loves it.  “Who decides when you get fucked, Jensen?” Misha asks, the authority in his voice clear as he digs his fingernails into the skin of Jensen’s thigh, no doubt leaving little crescent shaped marks that won’t stay long but still smart for now. He pulls back his hand and quickly smacks his palm across Jensen’s right ass cheek.  The sound of skin on skin is sharp and loud and Jensen jumps at the sting. Misha rubs the pink skin in a circle before snapping his wrist back and smacking him again in the identical spot.  
  
“You decide,” Jensen finally answers hurriedly, “I don’t get fucked until you say so.”  
  
“That’s right, my love,” Misha replies, gripping the base of the plug and tugging slowly until he feels it begin to release.  Jensen groans and shift’s his hips, trying to find some kind of friction. Misha drops the plug onto the bench beside them and immediately replaces it with his tongue, beginning with one slow swipe right across Jensen’s loose asshole, already wet with lube and open from the prep he’d done for the plug earlier.  Misha groans with how fucking turned on he is. Jensen isn’t helping with the sounds he’s trying, and failing, to stifle.  
  
Misha grips Jensen’s ass cheeks and spreads them apart, pressing in with his thumbs and shifting his own hips to try and stave off the arousal coursing through his body from watching Jensen look so prepped and ready for him.    
  
He doesn’t waste any more time.  Misha swipes both of his thumbs over Jensen’s hole and then pushes in slightly, stretching him open and then pointing his tongue and pushing inside.  With his thumbs doing the stretching, he can thrust his tongue deeper, so he does. 

Jensen is frantic for more – his hips practically keening back into Misha’s mouth, chasing the feel of Misha’s tongue, lips, fingers, anything to breech him.  
  
“Please, Mish,” Jensen hums into the air around them, ripe with the scent of stimulation.  
  
A stronger man might be able to resist Jensen Ackles begging to be fucked, but apparently Misha is not that man, not tonight anyway.  He sucks Jensen’s balls into his mouth, at the same time replacing the tongue in Jensen’s hole with two lubed fingers, crooked at exactly the right angle to immediately stroke over Jensen’s prostate and send him reeling.  
  
Jensen screams. Misha immediately clamps a hand over his mouth, reminding him that they’re in a public space.  There’s nothing Misha would love more that to hear every beautiful sound he can wring out of Jensen, but although he doesn’t think anyone else has entered the bathroom since they came in, it’s still a restaurant and he’d sooner they didn’t get caught.  
  
He removes his hand from Jensen’s mouth slowly.  “Shhhhh, baby,” he whispers. “I’ve got you.” and he presses directly against the same spot again.  
  
This time, Jensen manages to keep silent through the assault from Misha’s talented fingers, but once he rides out the initial wave of pleasure he manages to choke out, “Need you. Fuck.”  
  
It’s time to comply because Misha can’t hold out any longer.  He needs to be inside Jensen like he needs air. His cock is painfully hard, and he wants to feel Jensen’s hard body writhing against his for the first time in weeks. He uses the last of the lube packet to slick himself up, the act of stroking his own dick causing him to shiver from arousal and anticipation. 

“You ready, baby?” Misha asks as he glides his cock teasingly along the crack of Jensen’s ass with just enough pressure to edge them both that much closer. Jensen arches his back, clearly asking for more.  
  
“Fuck, yeah,”  
  
One or two more teasing strokes and Misha lines up his cock.  
  
“This is gonna be so good. You’re so beautiful and ready for me,” he says as he visually takes it all in one more time. “I’ve been thinking about this all night.” 

He pushes in, agonizingly slowly at first until he can’t handle it anymore and he needs to punch in the rest of the way or he might spontaneously combust.  This time, he has the forethought to cover Jensen’s mouth; he tries to yell, but because Misha’s entire fist is making a pretty effective ball-gag, all that comes out is a muffled cry.  Misha stills completely to allow Jensen to adjust to the intrusion. He’s panting, but with every pant there’s a tiny, high-pitched moan and it’s those little sounds that are making it painfully difficult for Misha not to start pounding into Jensen like the opportunity will never come up again.  
  
Jensen’s hips begin to undulate in tiny, seductive circles on their own accord and that’s when Misha knows Jensen’s ready for him to start moving.  He knows what Jensen likes and even in a restaurant bathroom without access to the comforts of home, he knows he can still make Jensen beg to come.  
  
Misha can tell Jensen is already close.  Hell, it’s not gonna take much more than a few solid ball-slapping thrusts and he’s gonna be there himself.  Misha pulls out slowly, enjoying the heightened feel of Jensen’s hot, tight channel dragging against his cock.  When only the very tip is left inside, he rams back in again aiming to set the brutal pace he knows Jensen loves when they’re in this position.  
  
He has to hold his hand tightly over Jensen’s mouth to keep him from screaming as each of his thrusts nail the swollen bud of Jensen’s prostate over and over.  Misha has one knee on the bench now and he’s grasping Jensen’s hip for leverage - fucking into Jensen with everything he has while Jensen is panting into Misha’s palm, soaking his hand in saliva.  He knows that Jensen needs him to touch, but to do that he needs to let go with one of his hands.  
  
“Can you be quiet, Jen?  I need to move my hand now.”  
  
Jensen nods his head wildly, momentarily losing their precious rhythm, but gaining it back when Misha wraps his fingers around Jensen’s neglected cock and begins with an upward stroke in perfect time with his driving thrust.  Jensen barely manages to control a groan, catching it at the last second so it escapes as a ragged, breathy squeak, leaving Misha just hanging on to a semblance of self-control.  
  
“So close, Mish. Need to... ahhhhh. Shit!  Fuck, need to come. Mishhhh,” Jensen babbles between nonsensical, whispers, his hips stuttering, his perfectly gelled hair sticking up wildly, droplets of sweat trickling down his back.  He’s a vision of pure erotic perfection and Misha can deny him nothing.  
  
“I need to see you come, baby,” Misha whispers, as close to Jensen’s ear as he can reach, jacking Jensen’s dick with his slick fist and trying to keep pace with Jensen’s swivelling hips. “Let it go.”  
  
Jensen follows orders beautifully, tipping his head back and keening under his breath as Misha strokes him through his orgasm, come streaking the cushion below them, narrowly missing the wall, the warmth of it trickling over Misha’s wrist and hand.  Misha can feel Jensen’s muscles start to relax after contracting so tightly, so he picks up the pace again, chasing his own release.  
  
He plummets over the edge a few seconds later, Jensen’s name on his tongue, collapsing over Jensen’s sweaty back and kissing any part of the man he can reach: the nape of his neck, his shoulder blades, his ribcage.  When he’s finished laving Jensen with post coital attention, he slips out, mindful of their mess and Jensen’s slight wince and makes it the few steps to where there’s a convenient roll of several-ply toilet paper. He grabs a fistful and uses it to wipe them both down and do a perfunctory wipe of the bench before pulling Jensen down beside him and slotting their fingers together.  
  
It takes several minutes for them to regain their breathing before either of them speak.  Jensen picks up their combined hands and lifts them to his lips, kissing Misha’s fingers tenderly.  
  
“Well that was unexpected,” he says with his smirk.  
  
Misha looks at Jensen pointedly, knowing full well Jensen is thinking about the plug. “You’re so full of shit, NesneJ.”  
  
“I’m not hearing any complaints.”  
  
“Fuck no, not from me anyway,” Misha replies with a laugh. “I think we better escape before the staff see the mess we made of this bench though.”  
  
“Yep.” Jensen pops the ‘p’ while he’s already reaching for their clothes. “Time to try and sneak out without anyone seeing.  We’re old pros, Mish. We’ve got this.”  
  
Misha leans in for one last kiss.  How did he get so fucking lucky? Seriously.  
  
  
**VI.  Jen**  
  
By the fifth mile, Misha had begun to realize it was gonna be rougher than he’d thought. The chill Seattle air was tickling his irritated lungs and he found himself coughing repeatedly, making it difficult for him to pace his breathing in a way he knew he’d need to if he wanted to finish the race. Now, at mile twenty, he’s beginning to think his ‘bad idea’ may actually be incredibly fucking stupid.

“How’s the knee,” Adam pants, concern cleary painted across his sweaty face.  He’s been pacing Misha since early on when they’d all decided to split up. Jared and Jensen were clearly in better physical shape than he was today so he and Adam had decided to run as a pair and let Team Texas take the lead.  Rob and Jason are still running together as originally planned.  
  
Adam’s undoubtedly tired, but doesn’t seem too worse for wear otherwise. His friend slows to a fast walk causing Misha to have to do the same to be polite and the respite for his painful joints and aching muscles is more than welcome.  Adam continues. “You’re limping more than you were few miles back.”  
  
Misha knows he is.  His knee is protesting every time his foot slams the pavement and it’s only the continued mantra of **_Few more miles. Can’t let them down,_ ** he has going through his head on repeat that’s stopped him from curling up like a potato bug in a ditch somewhere and crying like a toddler.  He can’t tell Adam that.  
  
“It’s hanging in there,” is what he grumbles back. “Not much further.” he pants. 

Adam nods and signals gloved thumbs up in solidarity. Misha faces forward and tries to focus on something other than the pain as he picks up the pace again.  An idea occurs to him after another minute of unsuccessfully ignoring the sharp pains and attempting to stifle a coughing fit. He grabs his phone and pulls up the last video Jensen sent him, presses the volume control until the bar is all the way to the top, and drops the phone back in his pocket.  A few seconds later, Misha’s ears are filled with the sounds of Jensen’s twins’ voices, mostly Arrow’s as she uses more words than her brother, whining at their Daddy to sing for them. 

**_Few more miles. Can’t let them down._ **

 His kids had been at the Random Acts water station and he’d been filled with a sense of purpose and pure intense joy at hearing their voices calling out “Go, Daddy!” and “You can do it, Dad!”.  He’s feeling that same determination and hope now as he listens to Jen and Dees’ babies’ soft voices as they suck up to Jensen. Misha works past the pain while listening to Jensen talk back to Arrow in silly voices and he hears the moment Jen gives in and grabs his guitar.  A few practice chords and then Jensen’s smooth, deep singing voice soothes through him as a balm to his aching body and soul. Misha is a little surprised to hear that the song is in Spanish but that’s something he hears a lot at Jensen’s home thanks to Yuli’s comforting and kind influence on everything she touches.  
  
Misha sets a steady rhythm, Jensen’s voice and Zep and Arrow’s giggles are exactly what he needs to push forward. **_Few more miles. Can’t let them down._ **

_Duérmete mi niño, duérmete mi amor_

_duérmete pedazo de mi corazón._

_Este niño mío que nació de noche_

_quiere que lo lleve a pasear en coche._ _  
_

The cramp starts in his right calf and it’s like a vise is twisting it, like something is taking his muscle and wrapping it around his bone and pulling tight as a cruel joke. The pain is blinding. He stumbles, and Adam glances over, ready to stop, ready to give it all up if Misha needs to, and the fact that he has friends that will do that humbles him, but there’s less than a mile left. **_Can’t let them down_ **.

_Este niño mío que nació de día_

_quiere que lo lleve a la dulcería._

_Duérmete mi niño, duérmete mi amor_

_duérmete pedazo de mi corazón._ _  
_

The finish line is in sight when the recording stops. In a quick sweep of the crowds, Misha sees Maison and West to his right and immediately spots Vicki’s medal hanging around his son’s neck. He makes a beeline for his kids, stopping just long enough for them each to throw their scrawny arms around his neck and cling for a moment.  It’s just enough motivation to push him through those last fifty yards.  
  
Adam has been working the crowd to give him a minute or two with his kids and he appreciates it more than he thought he would.  They’ve been together for the entire race, it makes sense to finish it together too. Misha gives it everything he has, tells the cramp to go fuck itself, and runs for the finish line.  He hears his name called by the overhead speaker, and he hears the fans in the crowd yell for him just before he limps across and then suddenly he’s being hugged from every direction. He can see Jensen, looking exhausted and cold, but otherwise okay, coming over to meet him, but they’re all shuffled out of the meeting area quickly and he loses sight of him. They’ll catch up later. He’s not worried.  He turns his head to see his beautiful wife approach out of nowhere and he lets her baby him towards the finisher’s tent. Misha tips his head on to Vicki’s shoulder. “Congratulations on the half, love. I’m so proud of you.” Vicki shrugs. To this day, she’s never learned to take a compliment well. Misha stop and grabs Vick’s arms with his hands to make sure she stays to listen.  
  
“You did well today, Vick. You should be damn proud of yourself. West has that medal hanging around his neck cuz he’s proud of you, too.”  
  
His wife squeezes his shoulder in what he knows is the closest he’ll get to a thank you. “You know as well as I do, West is wearing that medal because he thinks it makes him look like a badass.”  
  
Misha laughs, which concerningly seems to cause pain in most of his body.  “He loves you. As do I.”  
  
“I love you both.  And you...” she pokes him in the hip and he tries not to squeal like a pig, “...you just ran 26.2 miles with a cold and one side of your body that was only barely cleared to run. I’m really proud of you, you irresponsible jackass, but mostly I’m fucking relieved you’re here, safe and in one piece. For the most part.”  
  
Misha can hear the fear shaking Vicki’s voice and he knows he scared her today. The pain has lessened now that the cramp has stopped and his feet aren’t thumping the pavement on every step, but he’s sure he looks much worse to her.

“Hey,” he whispers in her ear. “I’m good, Vick. Nothing a good massage and some rest won’t heal, I promise.”  
  
He can feel some of the tension leave her frame as they hobble, clinging together into the finisher’s tent.  It’s there he finally sees Jensen. Unsurprisingly, Jensen gets up from where he’s wrapped in a foil blanket perched on the edge of a folding chair and joins them at one of the long tables.  He immediately turns his chair towards Misha’s and pulls him into a gentle hug, clearly being mindful of where he’s sore. Right now, Misha appreciates the effort.  
  
No words seem necessary as they cling to one another. Leaning between two chairs isn’t the most comfortable way to hug though and this probably isn’t the best place to push boundaries in PDA if they don’t want to be outed all over Seattle within an hour, so they part reluctantly. He watches Jensen give Vicki a hug and kiss and they trade congratulations. Seeing Jensen as proud of his wife as he is makes the pain dull even more. Vicki is just as enamoured with Jensen and she fusses like a mother hen, checking him over like she did him, asking if he’s warm enough, rubbing his arms - hesitant to lose physical contact.  Misha gets it.  
  
“Where are the kids?” Misha asks, thinking a cuddle with his children would be pretty good balm for his aching body and brain and, well everything, right now.  
  
“They’re with Alaina and Ruth. They adore Alaina’s girls, especially that little Charlie,” Vicki says with a soft smile.  “They’ve been glued to her side most of the day.”  
  
He nods with a smile, missing them, but thrilled his children are enjoying their day.  Jensen leans in, obviously wanting their interaction and conversation to remain private. Vicki, always the first to know what they need, and ever protective of those she loves, hovers over them to keep prying eyes at bay.  Jensen pulls Misha’s hand into his lap and Misha revels in the warmth of Jensen’s thumb rubbing tenderly over the knuckles of his chilled hands.  
  
“I wanted to greet you at the finish line,” Jensen whispers, voice cracking, rubbing harder, “but everyone was in the way.”  
  
‘I know, Jen,” Misha replies. “I’m fine now.” And he is.  
  
The rest of the day passes in drug-induced haze.  Misha mostly remembers the golf cart ride to get massages, and a couple of quick interviews where he holds up his end as best he can.  In between, he and the others are plied with food they’re too tired to eat, but they force it down anyway knowing they need the calories.  Conversation is light hearted and giddy, yet minimal. As a group, there’s an overwhelming feeling of accomplishment and relief but it’s overwritten by mental and physical exhaustion.   

Misha can’t stop coughing, even after taking a swig of Dayquil twice since finishing the race. His throat is raw and he aches in places he didn’t know he could ache.  Finally, he finds himself sitting in the passenger seat of the van with the heat blasting on high, watching his friends say their goodbyes as everyone but his family gets ready to head back to their hotels for the night. He’s already watched Danneel’s Instagram video of Jensen and Jared finishing the race together and he’s so proud of his best friends he’s near choked up. Vicki is trying to negotiate a peaceful parting between their kids and Alaina’s and it’s taking a while so he tips his head back and closes his eyes, cherishing the warmth and comfort of heated seats but not relishing the idea of the ride home, even if Vicki is driving.  
  
A sudden knock on the van door jolts him out of his doze and he opens his eyes to Jensen, now wrapped up in a warm coat and beanie, opening the van door and crouching down to rub his palms along Misha’s aching thighs.  
  
“How’re you doin’ slowpoke?” Jensen gently teases.  
  
“Better now, Speedy Gonzales,” he replies with a laugh.  Clearly they’re at the point where Jensen will start lording it over Misha that he was faster.  
  
“Better believe it,” Jensen says with an endearing smile, leaning in to kiss Misha’s dry, chapped lips.  The press of Jensen’s menthol-chapstick-kiss feels good and Misha chases him back for more. “Mmmm, you got more of that?”

“What?  The chapstick or the kisses?”  
  
“Definitely both,” Misha answers, twisting his body so he can wrap his arms around Jensen’s neck and stick his legs out of the van so Jensen can crouch between them.  Jensen rummages in his pocket and comes out with his usual plastic tube, which he in turn stuffs in Misha’s pocket. “For later, because I know you don’t have any.”  
  
“You’re right,” he giggles, tipping his forehead to Jensen’s.  “What would I do without you?”  
  
“Castiel would have even dryer lips.” Jensen kisses the tip of his nose. “Seriously though, Mish, I don’t know how you did it out there today.  No way I could’a pushed through that.”  
  
“You would have when so much rides on it.”

Jensen shrugs and Misha can see the doubt, that even though he’s just run a marathon, even after he’s just put his mental and physical self through the worst kind of punishment for 26.2 miles for charity; what he does, what he’s capable of, still isn’t important.  Misha snaps.  
  
“Jen! Baby, look at me.”  
  
Misha knows he’s being stern but he needs Jensen to understand. He waits until Jensen’s eyes meet his before carding his fingers up though the hair at the nape of Jensen’s neck and speaking softly.  “I am so fucking proud of you.”  Jensen opens his mouth to say something but Misha stops him with a finger to his sticky, yet still perfect, pink lips.  
  
“You do so much; you always have, and since you and Dee got involved with RA, you’ve only done more and more.”  Misha drags Jensen as close as he can within the confines of his stupid minivan, dropping a quick kiss to Jensen’s lips before continuing. “The fact that you don’t look for recognition when you help me out with setting up RA events behind the scenes, or you don’t jump on social media every time you donate your money or your time, means you’re being good and kind for the right reasons, Jen, not that you’re not doing enough.”  
  
Jensen is trying to look away, wanting to disagree because he takes praise and compliments the same way Victoria does, by deflecting them, pushing them away, laughing them off, but Misha won’t let him this time.  Misha wants Jensen to know that he’s always been compassionate and good-hearted, and as he grows more sure of himself he intrinsically becomes more aware of his audience and is less likely to hide behind Jared and Misha and the confines of Austin, Texas.  
  
“But, Mish, I’m not like you,” Jensen whispers into the air between them.  “Everything that’s happened in the last few years is so out of my comfort zone, and often barrelling out of my control, and I can barely believe I’m living it sometimes; that I’m lucky enough to have all this, have you in my life even.  It all still seems like something I’ll wake up from someday, grasping for anything to tether myself to you all.”  
  
“Hey, hey,” Misha shushes, knowing how difficult it is for Jensen to voice these deep fears. “We’re always in this together, remember?  Even you admit in interviews how much this experience has changed you, how much the show has brought together this family and we help each other and stand behind each other.”  Misha lets out a sigh. He can feel the tears building as they often do when he tries to articulate what the cast and crew and fans of the show have done together. “We’re all pretty unstoppable, you know?  Watching you and Dee successfully open the brewery, seeing you sing your heart out at conventions and events, joining you and Jared to take a stand politically, it’s been a pleasure to see you come out of your shell, Jen.  I’m beyond proud of you.”  
  
Jensen’s blush is visible even beneath the rosy chill in his face and Misha knows Jensen’s shining, glassy eyes mirror his own when he looks down at where Jensen is still crouched between his thighs. He wants to say more - has to hold himself back from saying more, actually, because it’s up to Jensen now.  He needs to accept that he’s deserving of the praises that are sung about his kindness, his down-to-earth southern charm, and his winning smile. No one with a heart can resist Jensen Ackles once he pulls them into his arms and calls them ‘ _sweetheart’_ in that soft southern drawl.  
  
“It feels good,” Jensen says slowly, enunciating the last word like he treasures it.  “I’m still uncomfortable, but I’m getting better.”  
  
Misha smiles.  “People are noticing, Jen.”  
  
“It’s all you and Dee.”  
  
Jensen is practically inside the minivan crowding into Misha’s lap.  He gives some thought to how badly Jensen’s legs must be aching crouched in the position he’s in but he’s hanging onto Misha like a limpet and there’s no way Misha plans on moving him unless he complains.  
  
Misha nudges Jensen with his arm until he looks up.  “What do you mean, me and Danneel? What are you trying to pin on me and your beautiful wife this time?” Misha smirks.  
  
Seeing Jensen chuckle is welcome after the serious turn the conversation has taken and Misha is happy his risk of joking paid off. He threads his fingers back into Jensen’s hair and pulls their faces close enough to kiss, stopping just before their lips meet.  “If I did anything to help you find your confidence, or your inner self, or whatever it was that you needed to latch onto to take on the world, Jen, I’m honored to have played a part, but honestly, it’s all you baby.” Misha has to stop and kiss Jensen. Everything is bubbling up inside and it needs a place to go.  He lunges forward and presses his dry lips to Jensen’s, tilting his head with a familiarity that adds to the warmth of having Jensen properly in his arms for the first time since the race, in private, mostly. Jensen literally tastes like wax and cinnamon, an interesting combination of chapstick and gum, but to Misha he tastes like affection, laughter, home, and love.    
  
Although the kiss begins with a burst of aroused energy, it settles into a pleasant hum almost immediately.  Misha enjoys kissing and he never half-asses it. As it turns out, Jensen is much the same, so their kisses are always pretty spectacular. Their lips move together in a practiced tandem, quiet but sensual, just enough that they’re both just slightly breathless when the kiss comes to its natural conclusion with Misha giving Jensen’s bottom lip a gentle tug.  
  
Jensen is radiant in the near-dark.  The only source of light is the overhead lights from the van, no doubt draining his battery from the door being open. He knows they don’t have much more time but he can’t let him go yet. He grabs Jensen’s hands in desperation.  
  
“Please come back with us. You know Vicki will want you to anyway.”  
  
“I wish I could, Mish,” Jensen says, the regret clear in his tired eyes. “I have a hotel and a flight in the morning with Gino.”  
  
“Yeah, I know,” Misha replies, tilting their heads together. “Will you give some thought to what I said?”  Misha can feel Jensen’s forehead scrape against his as he nods. He glances through the front window to see Vicki strolling towards them, Maison curled up in her arms and West walking behind her, spinning the race medals on their ribbons, one in each hand.  He opens his mouth to call out and say something but the glare he gets from his wife makes him think maybe that's not such a good idea.  
  
“Vick’s back with the kids,” he whispers into the small space between them.  
  
Jensen makes a low whining noise that Misha thinks sounds like a pissed off kitten and pulls himself upright.  “Yeah, I guess I should head out too. Gino’s probably called Danneel already to complain that I’ve wandered off.”  Jensen laughs but his smile isn’t real.  
  
Misha watches in curiosity as Jensen tries to pull himself to standing and isn’t surprised at the gasp of pain and he cringes in familiarity when Jensen grasps at his lower back every time he tries to move.  Misha rushes forward and wedges himself out of the van through the gap between the frame and where Jensen is standing.  
  
“I knew you’d be suffering from crouching down with me that long,” Misha says as he helps Jensen work through each cramp to get upright and moving.  
  
“Worth it,” Jensen shoots back before grabbing Misha by the sleeves of his jacket and tugging him close.  
  
“I’ll see you Wednesday.” Jensen says, kissing Misha tenderly. “Mmmm. Too long.” Jensen smirks.  
  
Misha laughs. “Yeah, yuk it up.  You have an extra two days to feel human again.”  
  
“Well, then it’s a good thing Cas isn’t,”  Jensen says with a grin.  
  
“Oh, you are so very funny, Mr. Ackles.” Misha can’t help but kiss Jensen one more time.  Just a quick press of lips this time. Just once more to last them. Fuck they’re pathetic.  
  
“Love you.” Kiss.    
  
“Love you too. Oh, and for the record.”  Kiss “It wasn’t a bad idea at all.”  
  
Misha smiles as he watches Jensen walk towards their friends then climb back into the van.  He leans over to kiss Vicki. Her kiss is safe, and playful, and sweet, and home, and she tastes like... cotton candy?  

“Do I wanna know?”  
  
“Ahhh nope, probably not,” Vicki singsongs as she turns to check the kids have their seat belts buckled over their booster seats.  “Okay winners, let’s head home,” Vicki says as she puts the van into reverse.  
  
“Daddy, Uncle Jensen’s waving.”  
  
Misha turns to see where Maison is pointing and there he is, just about to get into a car, an Uber probably, and he’s waving at the van, only able to see Misha and Vicki because of the tinted windows.  
  
“Did you wave back, Maison?”  He asks his daughter. She doesn’t know Uncle Jensen can’t see her.  
  
“Yes,” Maison says enthusiastically, but she waves again anyway.  He waves as well and even blows a quick kiss before they’re out of sight, sighing when they can’t see him anymore.  
  
He sits as comfortably as he can in the passenger seat of the van and manages a few minutes of small talk with Vick before his eyes get heavy and the headlights whizzing by lull him into closing his eyes...  
  
  
**VII.  Miscellaneous**

It’s interesting, Misha muses, as he watches the lightning fork across the sky from the spare bedroom in Jensen and Danneels’ Austin house. Every time the room lights up from the storm, Misha gets the perfect backlit view of Jensen’s naked form stretched across the spare bed.  Until a few minutes ago, Misha had been there with him. Twenty minutes before that, Jensen had been wrapped in Misha’s arms as the little spoon, while Misha fucked into him from behind; slow measured thrusts, just rocking and panting right up until the end when Misha had pulled him onto all fours and fucked into his tight ass, all the while pumping his cock until he spurted all over Misha’s hand.  Misha had followed right after, watching Jensen come that hard was enough to set off the orgasm that had been teetering on the edge of Misha’s willpower since they’d started. 

The release was exactly what they’d both needed at the end of a long, stressful day of airports and SUVs. Jensen had fallen asleep almost immediately, flat on his stomach with Misha’s arm flopped over his naked back; but, Misha’s brain is on West Coast time and not ready to turn off just yet considering the late hours he’s used to keeping.  
  
He attempts to meditate but he’s distracted and unwilling to put in the mental effort it would take to focus his mind. Instead, he sits by the window and watches the storm, alone with his thoughts - the view on the bed notwithstanding. 

As Misha admires the perfect curvature of Jensen’s back, the room flashes around them like a scene from the world they make happen on tv. The  thunder crashes like it’s right outside the house, and the rain is trickling from a downspout nearby that Misha can hear like a mountain stream from the open window. 

Misha loves thunderstorms. They’re chaotic, and loud, and a force to be reckoned with, all the while still managing to be beautiful, and scientific, and real. Misha knows he’s the storm in this analogy and he thinks that’s probably accurate, while the people he loves are the ones who keep him centred and tethered to reality sometimes. Jensen is one of the most important of those. 

He is sometimes overwhelmed by how much Jensen enriches his life and this is one of those moments. When he thinks about all the poignant moments they’ve shared in ten, years and how many more the unlimited internal hard drive of his heart has room for, he sighs in contentment. Jensen Ackles, in all of his many iterations, has taken up residence in his heart so completely. 

Misha whispers to the storm. 

_“You dance inside my chest,_ _  
_ _where no one sees you,_ _  
_ _but sometimes I do, and that_ _  
_ _sight becomes this art.”_

 “Who are you mumbling pretty words to in the dark of the night?”

 Misha turns his head to see Jensen propped up on one elbow.

 “You, actually,” Misha replies, leaving the window and the waning storm behind for the warmth of his lover and friend. He crawls onto the bed and curls up behind Jensen, reaching around his middle until he finds a hand to clasp. “I’m glad you’re in our life, Jen, you and Dee and the kids.” Misha tugs Jensen a little closer to drive his point home. “You make it better. You make me better.” He kisses the back of Jensen’s neck and squeezes his hand.

 It takes a minute or two for Jensen to say anything and when he does, it’s brief, because Jensen isn’t one for big, fancy displays of anything, and that includes words.

 “I love you Mish. You make me happy. I adore Vicki and the kids. We are good for each other. That’s all, baby. That’s all.”  Jensen yawns. “Let’s sleep, huh?”

 Misha can’t help but smile as he makes himself comfortable wrapping his arms around Jensen, trying find a way to keep touching every part of him for as long as he has the chance.

 “Hey, Dmitri?” Jensen calls out curiously. “Did you turn the doll around?”

 Misha can’t help but giggle at Jensen’s irrational fear of the creepy little doll Danneel keeps on the shelf in the spare bedroom. Whenever he and Misha sleep in here, Jensen has him turn it around before they go to bed so it’s not watching them. He’s sure Danneel only keeps it in here because she knows how much it freaks Jensen out. He loves her. She’s an evil genius.

“Yes, I turned the ugly doll around. Now let’s get some sleep.”

 Jensen awkwardly turns his head to accept Misha’s goodnight, well almost good morning now, kiss, and then snuggles back into his embrace. Misha barely hears the “Love you, Mish,” before soft snores and snuffles are tumbling from Jensen’s slightly open mouth.

 Misha sinks his cheek into his soft pillow and inhales the electrical scent of the storm combined with that of the man who turns his life upside down in the most perfect and wonderful ways.

 He sighs as his eyes flutter closed, the beginnings of sleep finally settling over his exhausted body. “And I love you, Jensen.”  
  


~~~

 

**Author's Note:**

> [Lullaby Jensen sings to the twins](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ACUsSZgQ4e0)
> 
>  
> 
> Poem Misha recites: by Rumi


End file.
